


Nouveau Riche: Wolf of Kirkwall Gentry

by snarry_splitpea



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Aristocracy, Ballroom Dancing, Gay Sex, M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Public Masturbation, Public Sex, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:25:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3378038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarry_splitpea/pseuds/snarry_splitpea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris scorns the day he was made into a Kirkwall noble.  He can't quite get the hang of the city's politics and wants nothing more than a simple, private life with the man he loves.  Wondering if he's being manipulated by Hawke or truly pursued with earnest love, he fights the man's affections at every turn.  Will Fenris ever fall into the arms of the man he loves or will Kirkwall nobility and politics prove a far worse fate than loneliness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Champion and First Ser of our Beloved Kirkwall

**Author's Note:**

> Dragon Age Kink Meme original post, here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/9730.html?thread=40368130#t40368130 This was posted, anonymously, by me. I'm now taking a moment to flesh out the story and fix some errors I didn't notice the first time. If you get agitated by waiting for each part, I can almost guarantee that there's more plot (but less sense) at the link above.

Fenris shuffled uncomfortably at the hearth as Leandra adjusted his belt. His immediate response to someone reaching toward him was to strike them.  However, he knew her touch to be motherly and managed to clench his fist to his side just in time.  Taking a deep breath, Fenris scorned his easy to rile nature. He supposed he hadn’t always been so jumpy, but he rather liked having the freedom to express a reaction. Even the violent reactions. Not that he would ever hurt Leandra. At times she was the only friend he could let his guard down, around. She felt like…. Well, he supposed she felt the way a mother should feel.  
  
“Hawke.” He stated firmly, acknowledging his ‘date’ as he heard the man’s solid footsteps entering the room and Leandra’s sharp intake of breath. She was obviously taken aback by her son’s appearance.  Fenris wondered what it would be like to have a mother that gasped at him when he finally washed the blood off and donned his best.  Someone to be proud of him for coming so far in life.  

Leandra was generally sweet to him.  She'd given him a long and approving look when he arrived. She’d cooed at the shine of his hair and then tutt-tutted at the size of his belt.  
  
“Too long. Much too long for that tiny waist.” She’d explained. He passed it over at her instruction and she disappeared into another room to carve an extra hole into it with a kitchen knife. She put it back on him, herself. He felt much more comfortable and said as much while thanking her.  
  
“…Hawke…” Fenris breathed out, slowly after turning to finally face the man. No wonder Leandra had gasped. Her son looked like a new person, as if someone had scraped off all his bad qualities and tossed them aside. Even through the flitting haze of his crush on Hawke, Fenris knew the bad.   
  
The constant stubble that often grew into a bristled and lengthy beard that he rarely shaved.  He'd hack it off grudgingly with a nearly blunt knife at the urging of his sister and mother.  The constant lingering battle-earned stench of disturbed earth, hot steel, and drying blood.  The often too diplomatic, too cheery, and too do-goody personality that only seemed to develop a sarcastic wit when Hawke and Fenris were alone, together.  The way he always wanted to make decisions and meddle in the affairs of others.  Did every passing complaint deserve a new mission into danger's arms?  Hawke thought so... and he knew his friends would always tag along to help. Oh, and Hawke’s love of mages. Fenris understood that the man’s sister was one, but Bethany showed an uncharacteristic capacity for love. She seemed incapable of corruption, much like her older brother.  
  
Oh, but tonight’s Hawke was a smooth-faced gentleman that smelled of lemongrass and gazed haughtily over at Fenris with a perked brow. Tonight’s Hawke held up his hands as if staving off the impending deluge of compliments. Tonight’s Hawke was cocky and Fenris hated cocky so much that he loved it. Hawke knew he looked gorgeous in his royal blue robes. He knew he looked gorgeous with that hair, longer than it had been in his entire life, pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.  
  
Fenris’s lyrium bands flared brightly, breaking Leandra’s gaze at her handsome son. Her glance at Fenris seemed to be a break from a trance, but her eyes didn’t linger. She galloped over to her boy with arms stretched wide.  
  
“Oh, you look just like the boy I’d dreamed I’d have before I left here!”  
  
Fenris suddenly remembered that, despite a hiccup in their family history, Hawke was an actual noble by deed and by birth. His stomach rolled in disgust.  Fenris felt his new status as the only elven noble in the Free Marches slithering around his heart, as uncomfortable with him as he was with it.

To the elves, he was a hero. He was a sign that status could be earned.

To the nobles, he assumed himself to be a pest. Something they wanted to exterminate. He was a sign that status could be earned. They had to want him dead, right?  
  
He shook the thought away. They could all die trying! He was with Hawke and somehow that made him feel protected.  
  
“Well, you two should be leaving, soon!” Leandra urged once she’d had her fill of smoothing out every wrinkle on her son’s robes and capturing every misplaced hair with fingers she dipped in a small tin of scented balm.  
  
Fenris immediately turned on his heel to approach the door.  
  
“No wait!” she gave him pause and he looked at her over his shoulder. He’d forgotten just how tense and annoyed he could look until she huffed at him and wagged a finger.  
  
“Oh, you won’t be scaring me, Fenris. Come over here and let me get a look at both of you, together.”  
  
“We’re adult men, Mother.”  
  
“Shhhhh! You make a fine pair. I just want to see you since I won’t be there, tonight!”  
  
And a fine pair they did make.   
  
Fenris donned a soft, matte, black leather from head to toe. Tight breeches were made decent by the length of his jacket, an asymmetrical garment with electric blue trim that fastened twice on the right side of his neck, three times at the right side his waist, and  with four chains across his right hip. His boots were gaudy gauntlets that were overlarge on his thin, elven legs. Adorned with architectural spikes, points, and whorls that stuck out at odd angles and made from a metal too silent and light to not be magically infused, his boots looked like enchanted weaponry. His hands were encased in black gloves. He planned to keep them on during the ball to keep people from trying to feel his lyrium bands out of curiosity when they shook hands.  This was a habit all the noble men seemed to exercise and he found it harder and harder to resist the urge to start fights over it.  Yes, prevention seemed the better plan.  
  
“Darling, did you not bring down, Fenris’s boutineer?”  
  
“We’re adult men, Mother.”  
  
“Oh, come now! I just came back from helping Isabela pin one on Varric. It’s a very nice gesture.”  
  
“I’m sure Fenris would prefer I not fuss over such…”  
  
“Actually….” Fenris interrupted, his bands glowing enough that he hoped they stopped either Hawke from noticing the flush on his cheeks. He crossed the room and reached up onto the mantel. He’d sat a box there when first arriving and forgot once he actually saw how delectable his date appeared to be.  
  
Fenris chose to open the box, but waited for Hawke to pull out his own gift. It was a single, heavily embellished epaulet with a long, quadruple chain that ended in a pin. He almost told Hawke he’d found it among Danarius’s things, but he was tired of lying just to seem not-so-smitten. He’d bought it just like half the wine he’d given the Hawkes and this time he’d simply say nothing.  
  
“This is… beautiful.” Hawke said, obviously ashamed of leaving Fenris’s token upstairs.  
  
“I’ll help you put it on.” Fenris offered, stepping closer to do just that.  
  
“Come upstairs with me.” Hawke said, his voice dropping in pitch and volume. Not quite a whisper.  
  
“I… what….?” Fenris thought his heart’s desire had come true before it dawned on him that they were simply going to fetch his boutineer.  
  
Once properly adorned with chain and flower, Leandra kissed them both and allowed them to continue on their way. Fenris had never gotten such a kind and chaste kiss, before. At least not one he could remember.  
  
“I love you boys.” She smiled.  
  
“We love you, mother.” Hawke replied.  
  
Fenris wanted to kick himself for being the blushing maid even before their date started. It wasn’t even a real date! They weren’t dating. Yet, Leandra seemed to think so and Hawke simply played along.  
  
The playful jingle of the four chains stretching diagonally across Hawke’s chest as they walked, reminded Fenris that his boots were creepy, at best, in their silence. He wondered if Hawke imagined –he- was creepy in his own silence and thought to make conversation.  
  
“You’re not using me to assuage your mother’s fears that you’ll die alone, are you?” Fenris felt his life flashing before his eyes as he finished that sentence.  
  
“Fenris, you give me the best gift I’ve ever received and then punch me right in the gut. This is why we can’t have nice things.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“Aren’t you always? One day we’ve got to see if you can go a whole hour without needing to apologize to me.”  
  
Fenris flinched, realizing Hawke would never find him attractive, just socially inept and depressed.  
  
“Besides, I’ve said no such thing to mother. You’re the one that comes over and sits long enough to share cooking tips with her. Now that she knows you, she’d probably scare off anyone else that came courting.”  
  
“I’ve not come courting.”  
  
“Tell that to a noblewoman with a bachelor for a son and a pretty elf sitting around gossiping with her over cross-stitch and tea.”  
  
“I only took that project because she’d already finished the base and said her hand hurt. Also, we weren’t gossiping, I just hadn’t heard Varric had proposed to Isabela.”  
  
“Which is still exactly what I just said.”  
  
“I could go home, you know…” Fenris said, turning around just as they reached their destination.  
  
Hawke grabbed his shoulder, instantly. Fenris noticed Hawke’s face was sad and even a little longing.  
  
“Don’t. Please. I need you.”  
  
“I am yours.” Fenris responded as he allowed Hawke to take his hand. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so affectionate, but it was what it was.  
  
Much to Hawke’s credit, the man didn’t respond. Anything he could have said would have made Fenris uncomfortable because… Fenris was prone to over-thinking and under-appreciating himself. He silently thanked the Maker that Hawke seemed to understand him so well.  
  
He also told the Maker where he could shove a few things. After all, a perfectly handsome and accommodating best friend was the perfect way to torture a tarnished soul like Fenris. One day he’d sit next to Leandra at Hawke’s wedding to someone else. If he lived that long. He often wondered if his desire to be swallowed up by a passing dragon would ever come to fruition. He tended to fight when put in danger and figured that would be the only way his misery would actually end.  
  
Speaking of Fenris’s sweet sweet misery, Hawke hooked their arms as the entrance was opened. The weather was cool but not cold, so they had no coats to pass off. So, Fenris watched as Hawke gracefully gestured to attendants that they would need no assistance. They were led across an overlarge foyer that vibrated with the stifled noise of music and conversation to stand before a door taller than three Qunari standing on each other’s shoulders.  
  
Fenris grumbled at the reminder of how small he was and bumped Hawke’s right foot with his boot when the man whispered for him to hush.  
  
“Don’t tell me what to do.”  
  
“We’re about to be annou…”  
  
“…HAWKE AND FENRIS WOLF. CHAMPION AND FIRST SER OF OUR BELOVED KIRKWALL.” The doors had flung open and the sound of the band and the herald immediately made Fenris want to curl into a ball and roll back home.  
  
“Shit. Smile and bow.” Hawke instructed through his teeth.  
  
Fenris refused to do either and gave the room a curt nod.  
  
“Shit? Why shit, Hawke?” Fenris asked once the conversation in the room picked back up and the two of them were out of the doorway.  
  
“I’ll tell you, later.”   
  
“My name isn’t Wolf, Hawke. What the hell is a ‘first ser’, Hawke?”  
  
“Fenris, I really will explain, la…”  
  
Again, they were interrupted. This time by a flood of well-wishers. Most of them commented on how glad they were to see the Champion, again. Very few made mention of Fenris’s efforts to save Kirkwall, but all shook his hand and seemed to treat him like an equal. Fenris imagined that would be temporary, but was relieved at not being treated like an outsider the moment he walked in.  
  
There were leering gazes from rich, round, and ruddy men that were accustomed to their only interactions with elves being at the Blooming Rose. There were politely delivered but chilling comments from women that Hawke should have been there with one of them. There were even a few explicit inquiries as to why Hawke hadn’t just milked his bachelor status and come alone.  
  
The words “first ser” came up in conversation but with no context for Fenris to grasp at. Whatever it was, he realized it was surprising to everyone that mentioned it. He also realized a few of the gentler attendees simply congratulated the two of them after sighing out the phrase.  
  
“I see you actually covered your ass for tonight’s affair. Isabela will be disappointed, but good call.”  
  
“Varric!” Fenris wheeled around, glad to be free of hanging on Hawke’s arm but feeling alone. He even felt the urge to huge the dwarf, but thankfully didn’t make a move to.  
  
“I’d kiss you, but I’m a one-rogue man, now.” Varric chuckled. Fenris rolled his eyes at the man. His relief had been obvious, but Varric didn’t have to point it out like that.  
  
“I thought you two were engaged.” Fenris blurted out as he eyed Varric’s ringless hands.  
  
“Ever heard of the pierced ladies of Orlais? We’ve got rings in other places.”  
  
“I sincerely hope you’re joking.”  
  
“Look at you. Trying to figure out humor. Looks like Hawke is melting that icy exterior one raindrop at a time.”  
  
“What does that even…”  
  
“Varric!” came Merrill’s voice from across the room. Followed by the sound of people gasping and tiny feet running. She reached them in no time, but left a few sour faces in her wake. Not that she noticed.  
  
“I wonder if I could grow this elven fanclub to a few hundred paying members.”  
  
“Nice to see you, too, Merrill.” Fenris narrowed his eyes at her. Was he invisible to everyone but Varric, tonight!?  
  
“Oh, sorry Fenris! I noticed you but thought you might like me not to yell your name from across the room. And really Varric? Elves are poor as shit. How would they pay you?”  
  
“Are you still talking like me, love?” Isabela had arrived and Fenris only managed to glance at her before averting his eyes.  
  
Varric wore his usual gear, obviously unimpressed by the fashion of Kirkwall’s elite. Merrill wore her usual clothes, as well but she looked very classy with her hair slicked down and face made-up. The lack of weaponry was a nice touch, too.  
  
Isabela, however, wore a long green gown that trailed the floor. It would have looked quite charming… if there weren’t splits over both legs and a neckline so low Fenris could see her belly button. He was also half sure the thing was sheer, but a mottled flower pattern gave it some illusion of decency.  
  
Varric and Merrill seemed to love it. Fenris narrowed his eyes at Merrill, again. He then wondered if she had an Orlesian piercing to match Varric and Isabela’s. He couldn’t put it past them.  
  
“Fenris, I’m so sorry. I got caught up in… whoa.” Hawke had been turning to fetch his ‘date’ but got an eyeful of Isabela, instead. “I see you three decided to ignore the dresscode.”  
  
“I combed my hair.” Merrill and Varric said in unison.  
  
“You’re the only one trying to assimilate, Amell-offspring. We all know where we stand with these people.” Isabela said to Hawke, her tone oddly serious. She realized it and picked up her usual joking grin, “In any case, you’ve done a great job getting Fenris to clean up.”  
  
“I’m not trying to fit in.” Fenris defended himself. “I like wearing nice clothes.”  
  
“I like your flower.” Merrill chimed in. He rolled his eyes at her. “Well then fuck your flower.”  
  
“Alright, that’s it, Daisy. You’re coming with mommy and daddy.” Isabela cooed as she dragged Merrill away. Varric chuckled as he followed his two ladies toward the sitting room.  
  
Varric’s departure left Fenris alone with Hawke, since the elf hadn’t made many strides to get to know his fellow nobles. He turned down most invitations for intimate affairs like gambling nights and fireside reading. Any RSVP for a hunting trip or dinner party was returned with a firm “NO” etched onto the accompanying stationary. Leandra had scolded him about that and he managed to doodle “Thank you. You are so kind, but:” at the top of the one she’d seen. She tried to explain why that may have seemed sarcastic but the lesson was lost on him.  
  
It wasn’t that he was completely uncultured. After all, slaves with fighting and stealth skills were often taught to blend into groups of rich or powerful people. However, being an elf, he could only ever blend in as a well-trained servant. He knew nothing of writing letters, dancing with fine ladies, or hunting for sport. Fenris knew nothing of being a compatible partner with someone as well-loved as Hawke.  
  
“The Viscount lost his first only a few years into his term and never took up another,” said an old woman into Fenris’s ear as she shared her plate of cheese cubes with him. He nibbled gratefully, hoping she’d tell him what a "First Ser" was without him having to ask. “Of course, she was a fine fine lady. She always threw the best parties.”  
  
Fenris scrunched up his nose and looked at the half-eaten green and white cube in his hand.  
  
“Oh! That’s from a Qunari recipe, dear. It’s a bit more bitter than any I’ve ever had, too. A little mossy, if you ask me. Kind of an acquired taste.” She picked up an orange cube and held it near his mouth. Fenris had never been fed before by anyone other than Leandra. The old woman’s kindness warmed his heart and he ate the cheese with a shy grin on his face.  
  
“Oh, that is quite a pleasing flavor.” He exclaimed. He’d never had a sweet cheese, before.  
  
“This one comes from my home!” she said brightly. Fenris could tell his reaction was well-recieved and she liked him for it. He rather liked her, as well. “A bit of a hobby for my husband. He was a dairy farmer before he got a title."  
  
"He’s kind of a hero as well," The old woman, continued. "So, I know how hard this night must be for you, dear. He was no social-climber. No! He simply burned down our barn to kill an ogre. Then, out of nowhere, we were in charge of the whole village!!! People treated us like royalty. Which was fine when it was only the village. More and more people caught wind of his feat. He got more and more popular, every day! Ah, theeen we had to learn how to be “the right kind of people.”  
  
She scoffed.  
  
"It’s gonna be tough, my boy. You can come to me if you ever need advice.” She gave Fenris another piece and this time he didn’t hesitate. He’d once thought eating from someone’s hand was degrading. Being fed like a dog. Then he saw mothers feed their children. He’d seen wives feed husbands. He’d seen Isabela feed Merrill. He wondered if that was something women did. Feed the people they cared about. He wondered if it was odd that he suddenly wanted to see Hawke take a berry from between his fingers and watch it disappear between the man’s lips. He kind of wanted to see the juice seep out. He wanted to kiss it away.  
  
“Oh, my well, congratulations on being First Ser!” she said as she started to walk off, “I’ll be sending you an invitation for a wine tasting. Lots more of our cheese, there. Hawke is a fine young man, as are you. You both chose well!”  
  
He wondered if she’d seen him blushing.  
  
He wondered what the fuck a First Ser was.  
  
“Fenris, I see you’re making friends.” Hawke laughed as he patted Fenris on the back, “They all seem to be women of a certain age. I can’t figure out if it’s your slight build or your little-lost-puppy-dog expression that makes them want to take care of you.”  
  
Fenris had allowed himself to be distracted with cheese, but couldn’t forget that he was on a mission. He looked at the epaulet he’d pinned to Hawke’s shoulder, afraid looking at his, probably smiling, face would make him lose his nerve.  
  
“Maybe it’s my lack of arrogance. I’m sure you can’t relate,” he snapped. “You still haven’t told me what a First Ser is, Hawke.”  
  
Hawke hadn’t heard him. He was talking to a wounded Templar about an upcoming charity ball.  
  
Fenris thought that perhaps he should head home. He had no idea why he’d agreed to go, anyway. One night while lounging on at Fenris’s house, Hawke had given him this sullen, slightly intoxicated story about how boring these functions were. Hawke had crossed from the armchair he always sat in to share the couch with Fenris. The taller man lazily stroked one of the lyrium bands on the elf’s arm as he told him about feeling out of place and brutish. Hawke had fallen asleep on Fenris’s shoulder, saying that the upcoming ball would be more fun or at least tolerable if he could go with someone he cared about. He’d added in a whisper, “Someone. Meaning you.”  
  
…and Fenris had promised to attend. To be his partner in brutishness. To be the likeminded companion that scorned all the fakeness and frippery. To be a salve for boredom. To care for Hawke as Hawke had said he cared for him.  
  
Oh, but there Hawke stood; he was everything these people were. He laughed and guffawed at the appropriate times. He met overzealous congratulations with overzealous gratitude. He flipped that fucking ponytail from shoulder to shoulder. He paused and posed dramatically when people commented on his good looks. And OH did they comment on his good looks. Over and over and over and over again.  
  
They fawned and flirted. There was an unending parade of boisterous Lords and brilliant Ladies to tempt Hawke with their pompous words and affectations. They were light in all the ways Fenris was dark. They were fun and uncomplicated. They were the kind of people a man could love. Especially a man so full of love. Love that would be wasted on Fenris.  
  
Fenris.  
  
Fenris, the only outcast in the middle of the dancefloor. The only rigid pillar that did not subconsciously sway to the music. The only awkward plank that carried no glass of wine or plate of salty delicacies.  
  
Amell-offspring, as Isabela had put it, was gracious, glorious, gorgeous, and eating up every bit of the attention he so obviously adored.  
  
Oh, Hawke had tricked Fenris into coming.  
  
Why? Fenris had no idea. Perhaps to embarrass him, though that motive made no sense. Maybe he’d only asked Fenris at Leandra’s urging. After all, the woman did seem to genuinely want Fenris with her son. Only the Maker could truly know why.  
  
Slowly, Fenris shrank away from the crowd. He shrank away from his ‘date.’ He shrank himself all the way out of the ballroom and into the foyer. Or at least he thought he had.   
  
He ended up in some other antechamber. This one was darker and full of smoke. Its lanterns gave off a reddish tinge and the smoke was sickly sweet. Cloying.   
  
There, he found a chaise lounge to sit on. He didn’t want to leave Hawke without saying ‘Goodbye’ anyway. So, he would wait there for the festivities to end and Hawke to come looking for him. If the man would even remember he’d come there with Fenris in the first place.  
Usually inclined to ignore the people around him if no threat of immediate danger existed, Fenris found himself surprised at his own curiosity. There were curtains along the walls and Fenris found that the moved and giggled, at times. Upon more deliberate inspection, the elf realized there were pairs and sometimes groups of feet sticking out of the curtains. He tried to dredge up some disgust that nobles fondled one another in public just like the vagrants on the docks or the lechers in the brothel. He honestly tried. However, he found himself amused by the idea that even in public, they hid their identities while doing this… and slightly jealous.  
  
The other lounges seemed to be occupied by women in over-large skirts that cooled themselves with fans made of paper and lace.  
  
A few of them had skirts like curtains… in that they moved and had more than two feet sticking out of them, as well. Hawke had no skirts for him to hide underneath, but he would gladly swallow him from tip to hilt if the man let him.  
  
Fenris suddenly realized why the fans were necessary.  
  
While contemplating whether he wanted to leave the room of debauchery or not, the odd sensation of being watched shuddered through him.  
  
Through the haze of smoke he realized he’d caught the eye of a noblewoman. He was suddenly struck with the question of whether the accompanied ladies knew what lips kissed beneath their skirts. Did they simply heave their chests and lick their lips at a potential diner as this woman did? To strangers?  
  
Fenris had never willingly gripped open a woman’s thighs and dragged his tongue along skin slick with lust. He’d known all too well the nooks and crannies of Hadriana’s body. He knew which buttons to press and which buttons to bite. He was… though besotted with Hawke, curious nonetheless.  
  
Another man approached the woman through the sensual gloom and Fenris realized he’d missed his chance. Must he always miss the jump?  
  
The idea that this was the first genuine flirtation he’d received from someone he was actually attracted since moving to Kirkwall gave him a sudden and unreasonable ache in his chest.  
  
Fenris stood to leave, but not without difficulty. Bless her. The stranger that could give him such an ache with only a busty sigh and a flick of her tongue. Damn Hawke for always popping into his head.  
  
He imagined the man leaning back on that same couch with his tongue gliding across his lips in invitation.  
  
Why was Fenris even trying to kid himself into believing he could touch another person? His mind would always follow his heart and go straight to Hawke.


	2. The City Deserves Better

The night seemed to drag on, though Fenris knew that barely an hour had passed since his arrival at the ball. He wandered around the red room, comforted by the feeling of being invisible in a crowd. There were people in every corner, on the floor, and draped over every piece of furniture. They just had better things to do than stare at the moody elf in expensive clothes and covered in scars.

Aimlessly, the elf rejoined the well-lit revelry in the main hall. Parched and bored with sobriety, he headed directly for the wine.

“Fenris, you haven’t seen Donnic, have you?”

“Hello, Aveline.” Fenris said without turning from the unattended refreshment table. He took a moment to swallow down an entire glass of wine in a single gulp. He slammed the metal cup down on the serving table and gasped a bit.

He kind of wished he could gulp down a few more glasses before talking to Aveline. She and Donnic weren't the best at communicating and Fenris's silence usually made him the dumping pot for all of her neurotic relationship fears.

Aveline eyed the emptied goblet but decided against telling Fenris to slow down. He never reacted kindly when told what to do. Especially when it came to drinking.

“And, no, I haven’t seen your husband,” Fenris finished. He began filling the goblet, again.

“Oh, oh… I guess he’s not here.”

Fenris turned at that, and didn’t even take a sip of his drink. He didn’t ask her anything, just perked a brow and crossed his arms.

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” she was obviously frustrated, “I’m really only here to do a patrol. The captain of the guard doesn’t get a night off when all the power and wealth in Kirkwall congregates in one place.”

“I see that didn’t stop you from grabbing a plate of food, Captain.”

The look she gave him was positively aggravated. She love that Fenris would always listen silently or tell her the stone cold truth. She also hated that he seemed to be amused by her pain. He was rarely amused at all. Sadistic prick.

“This is one of the perks of being allowed inside. I just thought… he’d pop up on the off chance that we could see each other.”

“You two live together.”

“Living together is not all it’s cracked up to be,” she scoffed. “He’s gone all morning. I’m gone all night. Whenever we’re together we’re either exhausted or getting ready to go. A party would be a nice excuse to get to talk a few minutes.”

“Sounds like he’s respecting the fact that you have work and staying out of your hair,” he responded. Fenris didn’t know how to cheer people up, but he knew how to be practical. Perhaps logic would soothe her.

“If he got to work a party, I would get dressed and be there! I’m sure nobody would mind us sneaking one silly dance. I mean, I know we can’t drink while we’re working, but we could share a plate of cheese.”

Fenris had forgotten he was talking to a woman that had given a man a picture of flowers. Logic, despite all her brawn and brilliance in strategizing, was not one of Aveline’s strong points. At least when the logic had to mix with her off-kilter emotions.

“I’m just saying that you and Hawke are lucky to not live with one another, yet. You still get to look forward to seeing each other. You get to go on dates instead of just sharing a mirror before work and calling it time well spent.”

Fenris’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. Why on Earth did Aveline, of all people, think he and Hawke were dating?

“Aveline, I’m sorry that I can’t help you,” Fenris said calmly, quite sure that if she were capable of crying, her plate of moldy, Qunari cheese would be drowning, already. He offered her his glass of wine, realized she couldn’t drink while on duty, and then chugged it down like the first one.

“Aveline…” he hiccupped, wondering if he could actually get tipsy that quickly, “I’m not understanding why you think Hawke and I go on dates.”

It was her turn to look at him like he was the crazy person.

“You can’t keep things like this a secret after declaring them before the state, Fenris. I don’t understand why you kept it from me and the gang, even before then. We wouldn’t have told anyone.”

“Presenting… what… Aveline?”

Somehow, Fenris had poured himself another glass of wine and tossed it back, as well.

Aveline cocked her head, examining Fenris’s face.

“Did… Hawke not tell you about Meredith?”

Fenris flinched. He would never forget that awful battle with Meredith. They'd thought her dead, but instead the lyrium statue had yielded to her flesh and she was a paralyzed but lucid human, labelled a hero and victim of a cursed object. Hawke's party couldn't openly object if they were going to remain citizens of Kirkwall.

“He told me that that scheming lunatic was given an honorable discharge from Templar duty due to injuries sustained during the battle. I'm also aware that she is currently engaged to Seneschal Bran. She'll no doubt run for Viscount and he believes she'll win. After all, there's no way he'd marry the evil crone if he didn't see power in the match," Fenris paused, realizing he was getting off topic. I still don’t understand what that has to do with me, at all.”

“Are you…” Aveline looked completely floored by Fenris’s admission. She pinched the bridge of her nose as if her head was suddenly in terrible pain. “I can’t tell if Hawke is as ham-fisted as I am at dating or just complete and utter shit at politics.”

Isabela, whom had always been an expert on sneaking up on people, chimed in.

“I don’t see why he can't be both.”

Fenris didn’t bother gulping down another glass of wine. At this point, he was sure no level of drunkenness could change his sour mood. He was starting to connect the dots and the resulting picture was one he didn’t want to look at.

He looked around, hoping Varric was nearby to explain things to him. Aveline lacked the flippant tone that made very bad things seem not-so-hopeless.

“If you’re looking for Varric, he’s showing Merrill around the gardens. She couldn’t handle all the smoke in that room over there. If you’re looking for Hawke, he’s still in the middle of the floor, chatting up his fellow nobles,” Isabela supplied. She had a knack for keeping tabs on people. It was probably a skill garnered from years of leading a ship’s crew. She couldn’t afford to lose men just because one of them passed out in an alley hours before sails were set.

“Isabela,” Fenris asked, his voice slurring slightly though he tried to will it not to. “Please, tell me this: What is a First Ser?”

The nearly nude woman sighed and nudged at Aveline. She either didn’t know enough to explain or knew too much feel comfortable explaining.

“Ah… well…” Aveline started. “When a man runs for Viscount…”

“Who’s running for Viscount other than Meredith?” Fenris interrupted.

“Oh, for the love of…” Isabela threw her hands up, catching a few glances from gossiping ladies that fluttered, nearby.

“Fenris, Hawke is running for Viscount. Viscount candidates can’t be younger than a certain age, any non-Human race, or single, dear,” Isabela blurted out. “I still don’t really know what a First Ser does but I do know that you’re Hawke’s way of filling the relationship requirement.”

“You’re also his way of politely declining Meredith’s very formal, very sudden, and very public request for his hand in marriage,” Aveline added.

The elf gaped at the two of them as if they’d run toward him wielding flaming swords. Despite his history, Fenris was quite sure he’d never been so simultaneously confused and terrified.

“Ah… do you…” Aveline started as she awkwardly lifted her arms to about chest height and moved toward Fenris, “Need a hug?”

The ridiculousness of the gesture seemed to snap Fenris out of his terror. The emotion quickly plunged into anger.

“No.”

Fenris turned sharply, his hand going to his hip in an instant. Hawke was lucky there was no sword hanging there, waiting to cut him down. Fenris was slightly agitated over being unarmed.

With his guard up and senses open, as if ready for a battle, Fenris heard Aveline and Isabela whisper behind him.

“No, Aveline,” Isabela admonished. She’d grabbed the redhead’s arm. “Hawke deserves whatever Fenris can dish to him.”

“What if Fenris causes a scene? I’m a guard! I have to intervene.”

“Hawke has earned a scene. You only have to break in if he gets physically injured.”

“Isabela,” Aveline responded seriously. Her usually worried tone eclipsed by the calm, lucid words of a guard captain. “I can’t have Meredith running this city because Hawke and Fenris have a public argument. We’ve all worked too hard for things to end this way. Let. Me. Go. ”

Then, there was a firm hand on Fenris’s shoulder. Fenris knew this grip. It usually came with a knife at the spine. It was the guard’s hold. Subtle but powerful. She could have his face on the ground in mere seconds and he’d still never learned how to counter the thrust.

“Fenris, the only reason I don’t have my knife out is because I really doubt you’ll hurt anyone here,” Aveline whispered into his ear. Oh, how he wished those whispers could be Hawke’s despite how much he currently hated the man. He shut his eyes, not sure if it was an effort to fight off tears. He wasn’t usually the type to cry. At the moment, he thought he might actually lose his dinner, first.

“I do want you to know that I can’t let you disrupt the ball with this… conversation. I know it’s a conversation you need to have, but I want you to escort Hawke to one of the fainting chambers, upstairs, before you do.”

“Fainting chambers?” Fenris asked, holding himself still in case Aveline would take any flinch as a reason to floor him.

“They’re the tiny rooms women are allowed to enter to loosen their corsets for a few moments or pass out if they’ve had too much to drink. The rooms lock from the inside for their protection. You’ll find them the moment you get upstairs. There’s an entire hall of them and we haven’t been here long enough for them to start filling up.”

Fenris started shaking. The effort to control his rage was a battle worth fighting, but not easily won.

“I’m going to let you go, now,” Aveline instructed, “Please get him into a fainting chamber before you utter a single negative word. We can’t let Meredith win, Fenris. Kirkwall has been as good to us as it can make itself be. We can’t ruin it, like this. The city deserves better.”

Aveline wasn’t sure Fenris cared about Kirkwall or if, after finding out what Hawke had done, he cared about Hawke. She hoped that he’d care that he’d made a woman beg. He wasn’t the type to enjoy another person’s humiliation. Their self-inflicted relationship angst? Of course. Their humble pleading? No. Fenris treasured autonomy above all else and wouldn’t let the power Aveline had just put into his hands go to waste.

Fenris realized he had the power to ruin Hawke’s life. Aveline’s. Varric’s. Isabela’s. Sebastian’s. Donnic’s. The list stretched on as he nudged and nodded his way back into the dancefloor. He found Hawke, still talking at its center.

Merrill was a mage, but he didn’t want to ruin her life, either. She had a couple of very clear-headed rogue’s at her side at all times. If she ever gave in to temptation, he could trust Varric and Isabela to do what was necessary though he knew they would mourn her loss.

He realized he would even mourn her.

His rage had dissipated by the time he was tapping Hawke on the shoulder.

When the taller man looked down at him, Fenris’s eyes looked solemn with the imagined memory of lost lives and friendships.

“Hawke… I…” Fenris couldn’t manage to speak, seeing the man’s immediate concern turn his handsome features sad and curious.

“Are you okay, Fenris?” Hawke whispered into his ear, knowing a shout wouldn’t be heard over the surrounding cacophony.

The most honest moment of Fenris’s life was then. He took Hawke’s hand, shook his head, and then peered into the man’s eyes, mouthing, “No.”

Hawke gave a single nod before sliding an arm around the elf’s shoulders. He pulled Fenris close, an effort to comfort him. Then, Hawke turned them toward the exit.

Fenris felt his heart thump gratefully at the idea that Hawke would immediately walk him home if he felt uncomfortable. Even without asking him why.

The elf stopped him and turned them toward the stairs.

Hawke knew what rooms lie above them, as well as their intended uses. …and alternate uses.

Once inside the softly lit and pastel colored room, Fenris noticed a small bad, barely big enough for a single man, and a comfortable oversized armchair. There was a lavishly curtained window behind a bench on the wall opposite the door. There were flickering sconces lit by candles that danced calmly instead of the blaring and steady light of magic.

The floor was also carpeted and he realized the room, though tiny, was designed so the woman didn’t have to be alone in her misery. Others could lounge there, even if it meant sitting on the soft floor.

Fenris heard the lock slide into place and remembered he wasn’t there to get off of his feet and admire the quiet and cozy atmosphere.

“Fenris, are you feeling sick?” Hawke asked, his hand reaching out to feel the elf’s forehead.

“No,” Fenris leaned into the touch.

“Too much to drink?” Hawke slid a hand to Fenris’s neck, his fingers tucking underneath the collar of Fenris’s jacket. Fenris knew he was checking for a fever. Leandra had done it, before. His eyes closed at the sensation of Hawke’s large, rough hands grazing his skin.

“No, Hawke.” Fenris practically moaned.

The hand paused and Fenris started to wake from what felt like a trance. He had to remember that he was angry at Hawke. Not just angry. He had to remember that he felt violated and betrayed.

He reached up to grab Hawke’s wrist, hoping to yank the hand away from his neck.

The taller man took the grap as encouragement and flipped the two of them around, crushing Fenris’s smaller body between himself and the door. The hand on Fenris’s neck slid up into White hair. His free hand occupied itself with the elf’s groin. His lips crashed against Fenris’s lips and he whispered into the open mouth.

“So we’re not here for fainting spell, but something else entirely?” Hawke’s voice was husky yet playful. Fenris had always imagined he’d be dominating, rough, and abrasive in the most delicious of ways.

The shudder that rocked through Fenris was a agonizing in how much pleasure it shot through his nerves. His arousal didn’t grow or burgeon, it attacked him so suddenly that his knees buckled. Without Hawke pressing him against the wooden door, he would have surely fallen.

Despite how his body ached for more of that touch and more of those kisses, Fenris managed to push the bigger man away. Hawke pulled his hands off of the hips they’d gripped so possessively. He withdrew his thigh from between the elf’s legs.

“Are you okay?” the rogue whispered. He had the look of a man that had been caught committing a crime. He had the look of a man that was about to apologize.

“Don’t say anything.” Fenris whispered. He was still trying to wrangle his scattered thoughts and direct them away from his loins. He was able to focus on little more than the painful erection that was still dangerously close to leaving an uncomfortable mess in his smallclothes. With every heartbeat, his flesh twitched in anticipation of release.

He stopped looking at Hawke. His head turned as if his eyes were on the ground beside him, but he also closed those eyes. He closed them as if he could block out all sensation with his eyelids. Fenris’s arms were folded across his body as if the cover himself. As if to protect himself.

“Fenris, I’m so…”

Sorry? That was a word Fenris hoped the man wouldn’t say. It was a limp, flaccid word that could do neither of them any good.

Fenris opened his eyes and his head snapped up to look his dear friend in the eyes.

“I asked you to shut up.”

Hawke shut his mouth. He then opened it as if to protest and closed it, again.

“Hawke, how dare you?” the elf accused. He watched as Hawke seemed to shrink under his gaze.

He finally caught the scent of burned deathroot and ale. Hawke had been drinking and enjoying a bit of less-than-legal recreation. Despite how angry he was with the man for making a fool of him, he was disappointed to find out that the crushing kiss may have just been a result of deathroot’s slight aphrodisiacal charms.

“I’ve let you into my life. …let you become my closest friend.” Fenris was trying all he could to keep his temper from flaring up. He wouldn’t start a fight with the man. Especially not while the man was under the influence.

“Fenris, I…”

“SHUT. UP. HAWKE!”

Hawke flinched and bit his bottom lip. He was obviously fighting to keep himself from striking Fenris, as well.

“Oh, be angry because the elf is putting you in your place. Be as angry as you’d like, Hawke. I’m beyond caring, at this point. You –used- me, Hawke.”

The charming noble was starting to look confused.

“I’d be a fool to turn you down, right?” Fenris had started pacing around the man, hoping to dispel some of the pent up energy that wanted to be used for punching or assault with a lit, wall-sconce.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Fenris paused. He was standing behind Hawke.

“Do you honestly think this is about that kiss, you imbecile?!”

Hawke’s head, which had been hanging, lifted.

“What else could you possibly be this angry about?”

“What else could I..” Fenris couldn’t fathom how he’d been so fond of someone so stupid. “WHAT ELSE?!”

It was the elf’s turn to push the Human into the door. This time, there were no kisses. He shoved a forearm into Hawke’s neck and held him there.

“You’ve signed me up for a life of being your sexual slave and managing your fucking household! You didn’t talk to me about it. You didn’t ask me. You didn’t offer me anything in return. I’m just your little bitch-elf that comes and goes at your beck and call. You’re just like Danarius, Hawke.”

The terror in Hawke’s eyes quickly bowed out, to be replaced with shame. He gurgled in response. Always determined to have something to say.

Fenris didn’t let the man go, but put less pressure on the man’s throat.

“What have you to say for yourself, Hawke? Why shouldn’t I just do away with you like I did my original master?”

“Fenris….” Hawke coughed a bit, his eyes watering. Fenris assumed it was from the strain of being manhandled, but something at the very back of his mind tried to recognize the tears as… well… actual tears.

“Fenris, I would never.” Hawke tried to continue and got choked up, again. Fenris backed away, not sure if he was physically preventing his former friend from speaking, or not.

Hawke took a deep breath.

“Fenris, you’re my closest friend” Hawke started.

“No,” Fenris interrupted, “You don’t get to say that after you’ve told the entire city that I plan to –marry- you. I’m the only fucking person here that didn’t know we were engaged. You don’t get to use me as your political pawn and keep me in your clutches with the lie of friendship.”

“Fenris, I didn’t mean for things to go this way! I didn’t mean for any of it to turn out like this.”

“Explain yourself, Hawke. I still have a mind to stab you, stab Meredith on the way out, and never return to this shithole of a city. In all my life, I’ve never trusted anyone as much I’ve trusted you and then you do this.”

Honestly, Fenris loved Kirkwall. He loved Hawke. He was hurting so bad, emotionally, that it made his heart literally ache. His lyrium bands, which usually glowed so brightly when he was angry, had dimmed completely. He wondered if he could die from betrayal. He wanted to drop dead. He wanted the dragon he often fantasized about to burn him up. He wanted to never feel this way, again.

His ebbing arousal simply made him feel worse.

The way his very skin seemed to remember what it felt like to have Hawke squeeze and caress his body.

He was trembling with clashing emotions.

“The last council meeting was supposed to be routine. We would discuss whether to allow the chantry to remain in the old library building or to build a new one. We were supposed to go over boring things like security and money. I wasn’t even required to be there, but Donnic and Aveline both had guard duty. I thought it would be funny to attend just so I could watch them make eyes at one another. Varric was there, too.”

“Hawke, I have no patience for an epic. You tell me what happened, or so help me Maker, I will…”

“Meredith proposed to me.”

Fenris opened his mouth. Then, he closed it.

They stood in silence for what felt like an eternity.

“Fenris, I was terrified.” Hawke admitted. “I declined, saying that I was interested in someone else. I thought that would be it, but then Seneschal Bran proposed to Meredith. She then bid for the position of Viscount. She bid… and nobody opposed her. If you had been there…”

“I wasn’t.”

“Fenris, those of us that know her were stricken. We know what she’s done. We were frantic. All of us looked to each other to make a move. But WHAT move? Varric isn’t human. Aveline isn’t a noble. The Templars were shuffling around. The mages were nearly in hysterics. And she sat there. Meredith just sat there with that smug look on her face. Seneschal had left his seat to stand beside her. He stood there, holding her hand. Looking at me like he was saying, “I will end you.” So, I panicked.”

“You panicked me into being your fiancé!”

“Fenris, I can’t run for Viscount, single. I knew that, but hoped I could bid and find a spouse, later.” Hawke explained. “I promise you that I bid, first. I promise you that when asked if I had a First, I only said that I was engaged to be married. I promise you that I tried –not- to give a name.”

“And yet you pulled –my- name out of your ass when forced to supply one? I’m the little, lost, elven, slave boy that owes you his life. You named –me- because you know I’d have nowhere else to go and no one left to turn to if I turned you down. You have power over me and have finally chosen to use it.”

“Fenris, I didn’t expect all of this to happen. I thought I could court you like a normal man. I thought there would be dinners and flowers and serenades on balconies. I wanted to give you all the awkward hand-holding and lusty fumbling that any new romance deserves. I wanted to shower you with affection. For years, Fenris, I’ve wanted that. Honestly.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Hawke. He repeated Hawke’s words in his head, not sure if he was actually hearing that the man of his dreams had been longing to date him.

“I wanted someone ELSE to become Viscount. …but Meredith gave me no choice. I would never, and I mean never, try to make you do –anything- against your will. I panicked. I made a dumb mistake. I…”

He stopped and looked at his feet.

“This was supposed to be our first date. This was going to be a night where I’d show you the red room and whisper stupid, flirty things to you. I was going to explain all the… Meredith… stuff, tomorrow morning. I didn’t want it weighing on your heart all night like it’s been weighing on mine.”

“You don’t own me, Hawke. You don’t get to make decisions for me, and you definitely don’t have to protect my heart.”

Fenris frowned. He understood that Hawke was clueless, not malicious like Danarius. That didn’t make his actions any less extravagantly wrong. In fact, it was easier to make an enemy of a man that had a sour heart. Hawke would be a hell of a man to walk away from.

…but Fenris had to walk away.

“I am not lesser than you. I am not less capable of handling or understanding dire situations. I’m not any different from you, despite how I may look.”

“Fenris, I kno…”

“And how –dare- you do something like this, -knowing- where I come from and what I’ve been through? I may want to fuck you, but how can you assume I –ever- want to be married? How can you assume that I ever want to be tied down to a person the way I was tied down to Danarius? You may have all these romance novels in your head from living with your duty-shirking, family-abandoning, idiot, eloping mother and abomination sister, but I want nothing of your moonlit walks and Chantry vows.”

Fenris was finally starting to see that Hawke was feeling the same pain he’d inflicted upon Fenris. The taller man did have tears streaming down his face. He looked paler, weaker, smaller, and less alive. Fenris reveled in vengeance successfully taken and decided to turn the knife.

“Marry Merrill if you just need a warm body to fill a role and sink your selfish, human cock into.”

With that, Fenris left the room.

Aveline was waiting on the stairs and he ignored her inquiries.

Friends.

They were all petty humans that toyed with his life as if he meant nothing. He’d not asked to be a noble, but it was the only way he could avoid being forced into the alienage once the city knew he was there. He was given a last name which he never looked at… he supposed it was “Wolf.” He was given a title and legal ownership of the house he’d been squatting in. He was given a stipend from the city under the assumption that he’d somehow contribute to council meetings and earn his keep.

Under the guise of helping, they’d made him an indentured servant of the state. They’d presented his new life to him with smiles and hearty pats on each other’s backs. They hadn’t asked. They never asked.

Merrill, they’d coaxed into the Circle. With her power and training to lead the Dalish, she was almost forced to become First Enchanter the moment she arrived. Lucky for Merrill, Bethany stepped up and took the vows. Though Merrill was relieved, Fenris wondered if the Amell-offspring would have fought Merrill for it. Though they had lived through years of poverty as social outcasts, Hawke’s entire family was made of petty social-climbers. Even Gamlen had joined a guild. Fenris didn’t want to be like them… but it was hard to scorn the protection of being –someone- in a city so large. It was hard to scorn the love of one's life.

Fenris practically snarled at the thought.

Humans, the round-eared pricks, had always just toyed with elven people.

Hawke, Isabela, and Aveline were no better than the average assholes of the human race. His thoughts pushed him to his knees the moment he was out of the building and around a corner.

He wailed in agony, one hand clutching at a wall and the other at his chest.

He wondered, again, if he could die from betrayal.

The trek home was a blurred stumble. He’d never admit that he’d cried in the streets like a weakling.

Once safe inside his own house, Fenris was only reminded of how much he didn’t belong. The once decrepit mansion that had mirrored his devastated and amnesia stricken mind, was full of warmth, light, and décor. The once crumbling foyer had paintings of the places he’d been. The formerly empty main hall had a new chandelier, his dwarven-made coat of arms, and rows upon rows of fine wines on display.

The wines were gifts from nobles he had yet to meet. Housewarming presents from people too far up their own asses to realize he’d been in Kirkwall for years. He couldn’t come to be known as a former slave that killed his master any more than Merrill could be known as the reason her clan’s keeper had been killed by a demon.

There was a rumor that he’d been a Tevintar oenologist and sommelier. Having not been born a mage, an experimental, lyrium-infused wine had left his skin horribly disfigured. Though the Free Marches frowned upon the Tevintar government for their use of magic and slaves… it didn’t stop the citizens of every city, Kirkwall included, from devouring exotic candies and wines, believed to be touched by magic.

He scoffed. The humans had even tried to erase his past. His false history was so ridiculous and so inflammatory that people loved to think it true. To say a man like him had been a librarian would have seemed too trite, too much like a cover-up. To say he was a mad chemist and connoisseur scarred by an unskilled… or possibly bitter, mage? Ah, that was the stuff of legend! It was a worthy fire for The Champion’s Companion to be forged.

His previously mildewed den, which he avoided, had more than plush furniture and a luxurious rug. It was full of memories of Hawke. Hawke flirting. Hawke boasting. Hawke whispering self-doubt. The room was simply pregnant with memories Fenris didn't want to face.

Fenris remained in the main hall, staring up the stairs toward the den he and Hawke would probably be in, at that exact moment, if they hadn’t both ripped their relationship beyond repair. Whatever relationship it had been, it could never be again. His hand was resting on one of the wine bottles.

A gift given to a man that had never existed.

Fenris Wolf.

He threw the bottle and it zipped in a determined line before smashing against the far wall.


	3. A Downpour in Kirkwall

He fingered another bottle, watching as his gloved hand slid down the body of it. It was a caress. Like Hawke’s skin brushing his warm neck.

This one didn’t make it all the way across the room. It fell in a low arch and landed on a rug Leandra had given him. The bottle cracked, but didn’t smash. It bled slowly on the woven mandalas, obscuring their beauty with a stain that would quickly set.

The rest of the bottles were spared from Fenris’s wrath.

When he’d lived in squalor, what were a bit of broken glass and a few sticky, dark stains?

Now, he had “hired help” that came every morning to beat curtains and sweep dust. Though he paid them four times what they would have earned from any other noble, he couldn’t let them come in to extra work. Not when the work was spawned by his own selfish need to vent.

He undressed in his bedroom, leaving his clothes neatly folded on a chair and the boots beside that. Wearing nothing but loose, weathered pants that tied with a string at his waist, Fenris gathered water and soap for his task.

Part of him knew he was avoiding sleep. He dropped a towel into his bucket of water and yanked it out with aggravation. Water splashed on the nearby furniture as well as his uncovered chest and carefully styled hair. The image of himself grooming in front of a mirror only hours beforehand seemed distant. As if it had happened to another man and he’d simply been there to observe.

His lyrium bands were starting to glow, again. They gave a soft, blue shimmer to the water that fell from the towel as he wrung it out. His muscles seemed to sigh with relief. He could channel all his anger into this menial task, as he’d done in his other life. Back then, it was all he could do. Bite his tongue and scrub something. As he scrubbed his own rug in his own living room, sullied by his own wine… Fenris felt glad that it was his choice. This small thing, he had power over.

To cleanse and to create. That’s what he wanted to do. That’s the man he wanted to be. He just couldn’t seem to stop himself from destroying. Had he really needed to insult Hawke’s mother? Had he really needed to stop the man? Couldn’t he have let himself have one fucking moment of ecstasy? Couldn’t they have argued, later?

On his hands and knees, Fenris continued to work. Both hands gripped the rag and pushed it across the carpet and dragged it back. Pushed and dragged. Pushed and dragged. Quickly, furiously, he cleaned. He wanted to pick up the pace when his mind tried to turn to Hawke’s molesting fingers. When that memory slid down his sides and grabbed his hips, shoving a knee between his lean thighs, he wanted to speed up. To forget it, altogether. He paused, instead.

“Damn you, Hawke.” He groaned, sitting back on his feet and slamming the once tan rag back into the bucket to bleed out its red muck.

He wondered if it was normal for a grown man to become painfully aroused at just a thought. He looked down at himself, past the backlit droplets sliding down his muscled abdomen, to the unmistakable tent of his cock underneath loose pants.

While cleaning, his pants hadn’t been spared from his careless splashing. However, he suspected that the dark stain spreading over the tip of his cock was something else. Unable to stop himself, Fenris pressed his index finger to the growing blot. Slick and slimelike, even the tiny glide of the threadbare fabric sent shivers up his spine.

His mind chose that moment to think of Hawke’s eyes. Fierce, confident, and dark with lust. Eyes that promised delicious haste. He’d seen those eyes and still turned the man down. He could have been fucked, ass up on that soft, carpeted floor… but he’d had to stick to principles.

Hating himself, Fenris continued to lightly drag that single digit across the clothed head. He twitched involuntary, another pulse and he could feel the hot, agonizing passing of precum down the side of his cock. He was torturing himself. How easy would it have been to grip himself tightly and stain the carpet, again? He even scraped a fingernail down the tiny slit that kept leaking with desperation. It hurt to be this horny, but it hurt in the best of ways.

“Hawke, I won’t say no this time…” he promised a phantom of the man he loved. Eyes closed, he saw the man sprawled on the chair before him. Legs tossed open in wanton invitation, his fantasy Hawke was completely dressed, but had thrown open latches and buttons to expose his own engorged cock. He wasn’t the type to toy and tease. He simply sat there, arms stretched across the back of the couch, cock jutting out of sumptuous robes, throbbing. Waiting. Demanding attention.

Fenris found himself confused at his own imagination. He didn’t want Hawke to tell him what to do… but his imagined Hawke demanded that he suck until he gagged, fuck until he was exhausted, and sit prettily as the man painted his face with cum. He complimented Fenris on how well the droplets were camoflauged in his hair and how they clung like garlands from nose to cheek and from lips to chin.

Fenris, in his mind, had been disciplined enough to not touch himself. Fenris, sweating and moaning on the floor of his main hall, had shoved a shaking hand down the front of his pants and was rubbing himself practically raw.

“Hawke, please.” he could barely form words as he started to lose control of his own breathing. He felt his orgasm nearing. His cock was slick with his own jizz and sweat. “Please…. Let me cum.”

He begged his fantasy Hawke.

“…by all means...” came Hawke’s reply. Too soft to fit his fantasy and all too real.

Fenris collapsed on himself, hoping to hide the evidence of what he’d been doing, despite knowing he’d been caught. He slid his hand discreetly out of his pants and didn’t move to sit up or stand.

“What are you doing in my house, Hawke?”

“I wanted to make sure you made it home safely and were… okay,” Hawke responded. He knew Fenris like the back of his hand. The elf had either ran headlong into danger or was at home drinking and breaking things. He’d walk over glass with no shoes on, pick up jagged pieces with bare hands, and wouldn’t bother to treat the wounds. Hawke had dealt with Fenris’s angst countless times. Of course he would come check.

Feeling foolish but no less aroused, Fenris remained slumped over on the floor.

“I don’t want you here, Hawke.”

“Fenris, I don’t mean to call you a liar, but we both know that that’s not entirely true.”

Fenris heard the man’s footsteps drawing nearer.

“Hawke, I don’t want you to touch me. Don’t you –dare- touch me.”

Fenris could see the tips of Hawke’s shoes. The man was standing in front of him. So close to the chair he’d sat in during Fenris’s fantasy.

“I won’t touch you without your permission.” Hawke stated, “You, however, have my permission to do what you will to me.”

Then he sat.

He sat in the fucking chair.

Fenris’s heart leapt. Among other things.

“I know you hate being bossed around. I know you hate me keeping things from you. I know.” Hawke explained as he carefully unbuttoned his jacket. He didn’t start at the bottom and only undo a few, like in Fenris’s fantasy. He started at his own neck, revealing a vest and a dressy shirt.

“I’ve become so accustomed to making all the decisions when it came to our work and our adventuring,” Hawke continued, “That it barely dawned on me that when moving into new territory, I would have to stop and reassess both of our boundaries.”

Fenris slowly sat up.

Instead of standing to completely remove the jacket, Hawke shrugged it off of his shoulders and let it crinkle behind him, the tails still trailing off the seat of the chair, alongside his thighs.

He held up a wrist and undid a cuff-link with his tongue, the metal bauble falling into his lap as he perked a brow at Fenris.

The elf looked away, turning his head. Willing himself to not be seduced. Willing himself to –get up- and move. He remained frozen to the spot.

“New territory?” Fenris asked.

“I realized being passive about this has not only gotten me nowhere but has also knocked me almost completely out of where I want to be.” Hawke explained. He never made things easy for Fenris, but the elf was glad he talked. It gave him time to figure out how to move his legs and leave. It gave him time to work up the nerve to kick Hawke out.

“Passive about… new territory?” Fenris asked. He seemed to have run out of nerve, for the night.

Hawke had pulled off the vest. Fenris heard it hit the wet floor. It dawned on Fenris that he was sitting in a buddle of soap and water. He was mostly covered in sweat. He looked horrible.

“Both of us seem to want… something.” Hawke sighed. He was choosing his words, carefully. Fenris had heard him speak this way with the Arishok. How talking to Fenris proved as frightening as talking to the Arishok, the elf didn’t know.

“Fenris, I…” Hawke sighed again. His voice had the tone it usually took when he hung his head. Fenris looked and found that the man was topless, leaning over, and looking at the floor without really seeing it.

“Hawke,” Fenris interrupted, “Does the invitation to touch and not be touched still stand?”

The man looked at him. Stared for a moment. Then, nodded.

Fenris stood. His legs were stiff and shaky. He felt pins and needles in his feet and hips. He stretched only a bit, but Hawke’s eyes zipped around his abdomen, taking in every movement. Appreciating every single one.

First, the elf circled Hawke’s chair, not touching. Neither of them said a word. Fenris realized the hand that he held over his crotch in an attempt to gain modesty only made him look like a lecherous creep observing his prey.

He supposed he was.

Fenris stopped and leaned his right hip on the left side of the chair. If he moved over a few more inches, he’d be sitting in Hawke’s lap, facing him. As it were, he simply balanced on the chair’s arm as he cautiously lifted a hand and let it run through Hawke’s hair.

Hawke hummed appreciatively and closed his eyes. His arms were folded and both fists were clenched. Fenris realized the man was fighting not to touch him. The elf smiled.

Leaning into Hawke, more, Fenris pressed his face into the hair. It smelled of illicit smoke and delightful lemongrass. Fenris had never been a fan of smoking. He’d really only taken up drinking since moving to Kirkwall. The scent was intriguing, on Hawke. He supposed a wet ferret would be intriguing on Hawke, but would never admit that if asked.

Both of his hands were in the man’s hair and one of his knees was in the man’s shoulder. He was using a single big toe to keep himself balanced. He was so determined to not sit on the man.

He didn’t want to be touched or embraced. He wanted to grip at those aromatic strands and drink in the smell of them. His biceps flexed as he pulled on Hawke’s too long hair, his face still buried in it. Eyes closed, he let his fingers and nose be the only sensory input on his body.

He ignored the way Hawke moaned and sighed as his hair was pulled and scalp massaged. He ignored the way his still aching cock leaked precum down his thigh. He felt the never-ending ooze curve around one cheek of his ass, no doubt staining the chair beneath the thin fabric of his pants.

Hawke didn’t question Fenris’s actions. He seemed to rather enjoy them. Only once did he let out a squeak of pain. As Fenris withdrew his fingers he only whispered, “No, again.” He seemed to like the tiny, sharp stabs of pain coupled with the dull and soothing knead of Fenris’s fingers. Hawke’s hips moved of their own accord, his own erection fucking against the criss-cross of laces that held his breeches on.

“Fenris, I can’t…” Hawke started as he uncrossed his arms and reached up to touch the elf.  
  
“I could ask you to leave,” Fenris reminded him. He didn’t threaten violence or even try to pretend he’d never speak to the man again. Hawke folded his arms with a whine of strain and Fenris knew he had the power, that night.  
  
He’d never known what it felt like to wield power over a man through sex. He knew what it was like to hold a knife to a throat and demand information or compliance. He knew what it was like to let lyrium seep into the air around him and strike fear into hearts.  
  
He’d never known what it was like for someone to want to touch him or to be touched by him so badly that they would listen to whatever he said.  
  
The fantasy of Hawke being demanding and callous slipped away, replaced by the squirming and yearning man beneath him.  
  
He allowed himself the pleasure of kissing Hawke’s forehead.  
  
Then nose.  
  
Then lips.  
  
The human leaned forward as if to deepen the kiss and the elf pulled back. He looked at Hawke with laughter in his gaze. Hawke realized he was being teased. Relentlessly so. He sat back in the chair, his posture more open for the torture.  
  
The elf licked an index finger and pressed the moist digit to one of Hawke’s nipples. The softly colored bud became taut and swollen as he flicked it. He repeated this on the other and was pleased by the sounds Hawke made in response.  
  
“Are you really this sensitive? Like an untouched maiden?” Fenris teased as he let his hand travel down from the rogue’s chest to his abdomen.  
  
Fenris had imagined Hawke’s stomach as a hard slate with a sheet of satin skin on top. However, Kirkwall’s champion hadn’t been out patrolling the Wounded Coast in many months. The skin was thick and the muscles guarded by soft flesh. Hawke instinctually sucked in his belly but that didn’t change much. Fenris poked the man before he realized what he was doing and Hawke laughed good-naturedly.  
  
“I would apologize for not being in better shape, but wine and food are nothing to be ashamed of.”  
  
“I think you’ve earned a decent break.”  
  
“I think you’ve earned a decent suck.”  
  
“How crass,” Fenris couldn’t fight his own blush and hoped that turning his head allowed his white hair to hide his face. He'd just insulted a man for cooing at the slightest touch. He hated that Hawke could turn him red with a simple word.  
  
“May I?” Hawke asked. He was obviously itching to do some touching and Fenris wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.  
  
The elf stood but purposely didn’t give Hawke permission to move. Hawke sat and watched.  
  
Hawke watched as Fenris loosened the frayed drawstring of his threadbare slacks and allowed them to fall to the floor.  
  
He watched as Fenris’s leaking cocked bounced slightly and swelled further at it’s newfound freedom.  
  
He watched as the frothy wet patch on the elf’s thigh glistened and the nearly imperceptible strand of precum connecting the tip of his cock with his leg stretched under the weight of new beads of moisture until it finally touched the elf’s right knee and snapped.  
  
He watched as Fenris’s lyrium bands pulsed ever so slightly. With his heartbeat. With the throb of his cock.  
  
He watched as the shorter man turned a pert bottom toward his gaze and approached the staircase in the middle of the room.  
  
Fenris stopped on the first balcony and gestured to his new lover, if only for a night.  
  
“Come.”  
  
Hawke’s heart leapt at the instruction. He’d worried that Fenris would disappear into his sitting room and moodily shout back that Hawke should leave as he jerked himself to satisfaction and painted the door as he’d almost done the rug.  
  
Leaving his own clothes behind on the chair after a few moments of desperate fumbling, Hawke did as he’d been told.  
  
Fenris lead Hawke into his bedroom and was surprised when Hawke waited in the doorway instead of following him to the bed, which the elf was already climbing onto.  
  
“Do I have your permission to touch you?” Hawke asked, not waiting for permission to touch himself. The pink head of the rogue’s cock was wet, but not leaking as Fenris’s did. Hawke held his shaft, thick enough that his long fingers barely met his thumb as he gave himself a squeeze. The squeeze, soliciting another droplet of precum to appear on his tip, made him groan in a way that made Fenris’s ears perk.  
  
Hawke smiled, his mouth opening in surprise. He had no idea elves could do that! He took a breath as if to speak and Fenris held up a hand.  
  
“Say nothing about it. It doesn’t happen often and it’s something most city born elves don’t like for humans to know.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“They make it into some sort of sick goal. A sport. A constant quest to see it happen, again.” Fenris stated bluntly as he made himself comfortable on the bed’s pillows.  
  
Hawke at least looked embarrassed at that. After all, he’d immediately started coming up with ways to get Fenris’s ears to twitch.  
  
His hand, which had stilled, started moving once more. He tugged on himself, gently. He’d gotten too wound up and knew he was close to the edge, already.  
  
Fenris was too caught up in watching Hawke slowly stroke himself to remember that a question had been asked. Fenris remained perched on the pile of pillows behind him, his thigh sticking to the coverlet.   
  
“Join me.”  
  
Hawke took a deep breath to keep from eagerly bounding across the room and jumping into the bed beside the elf. He wanted, so badly, to grip Fenris by the hips and bury himself inside. He wanted the stick film of precum coating his cock’s head to turn into a gushing torrent that filled the elf up and left him dripping.  
  
He wanted to pass out next to the man and wake up the following morning only to do it, again.  
  
Yet, he was also a romantic.  
  
He wanted gentle kisses and long, tickling strokes of fingers gliding down biceps and over thighs. He wanted to watch the man’s abdomen flutter as he kissed him just below his navel.  
  
Hawke wanted rose petals and candlelight.  
  
He wanted a savory dinner followed by a sweet dessert followed by a bitter midnight snack.  
  
He wanted…. Not this.  
  
“I…” Hawke started. He’d let his hand drop to his side.  
  
“Are you okay?” Fenris asked, already swinging his legs off the bed to stand. He’d noticed Hawke’s face falling along with his erection.  
  
“Fenris, I know we’ve known one another for years, but I don’t think we can… jump right into this without…”  
  
“Without setting boundaries, establishing what we are to one another and want from one another, and making sure this isn’t just a fling.”  
  
“Right.” Hawke gave the man an incredulous stare. It was as if Fenris could read his mind.  
  
“Don’t worry, I can’t read your mind. I just know you. I know myself. You’re right.” He suddenly felt modest as his own cock shrank from the cold realization that neither of them was ready for a one night stand. He grabbed a pillow and held it over himself. Hawke settled for cupping himself with one hand.  
  
“I’m sorry I barged in like that.” Hawke murmured, his eyes wandering the room to keep from looking at his crestfallen friend.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For apologizing.” Fenris clarified. “I feel like you owe me quite a few.”  
Hawke frowned. Fenris was right, but they’d gone from come-hither stares to cold shoulders in a matter of seconds, it seemed.  
  
“Fenris, I could get on my knees, right now if…”  
  
“One apology a day. No more. No less. I think what we both need is time. This isn’t a conversation I can have, tonight.”  
  
  
  



	4. Closed off from the City

Hawke was to see himself out after dressing in the living room. He actually dawdled a bit, finishing the mostly complete cleaning of Fenris’s rug, hoping to catch another glimpse of the elf.   
  
He started dusting off bottles from there. However, Fenris hadn’t left his room before Hawke’s yawned started happening closer and closer together. He finally left as the sun was coming up.  
  
The next morning, Fenris didn’t go downstairs until long after his bath. One of his maids asked about the polished state of the living room and he shrugged off her questions, noting that he’d need to thank Hawke, later. Another brought him breakfast and he asked her to stay and talk. She was a nervous child but managed to stammer out a few sentences about her school life and younger brother.  
  
He smiled at her the best he could and, judging by the glow of the smile she gave in return, he’d done well.  
  
He realized around lunchtime that he’d not gotten enough sleep because he snoozed a bit over his tea.  
  
While napping, a message must have arrived for him because he woke to find a note on his nightstand.  
  
It was a lazily scrawled invitation to have wine and cheese at a nearby address. He didn’t think much of it until he realized the time he’d been asked to arrive was mere minutes away and if he was going to decline, he should have done it hours earlier.  
  
Grumbling, he washed his face and strapped on a few bits of armor. Tucking blades into concealed compartments, Fenris galloped down the stairs to rush out of the door. Just outside, he found the girl he’d talked to earlier.  
  
“Why do you always wear armor out of the house?” she asked. She usually didn’t ask him questions.  
  
“Because this whole lifestyle is a dream, easily taken from me.” He replied cryptically. She’d probably assume he meant bandits, but he was actually more afraid of the guard. An elf in power must have been a thing of disgust among the nobles, he thought.  
“Hello, dear boy.” Said the old woman Fenris had met the previous night. He realized he’d rushed out without really knowing who the invitation was from. He allowed a servant to help him remove his gauntlets, but chose to kept them under the chair he was offered.  
  
“Full armor, love?” the old woman asked.  
  
“Not… full armor.” Fenris had replied, blushing a bit as he put emphasis on the word “full.”  
  
She laughed loudly and with an open mouth. She was comfortable enough around him to not play at being a lady. He wasn’t sure if that was because she liked him or simply because he didn’t matter.  
  
“You can call me, Viola.” She offered as she leaned over the small table they were sitting at and put a bit of food on his plate.  
  
“Fenris.” He responded.  
  
“I know that! You’re the most talked about man in Kirkwall.”  
  
“…after Hawke, you mean.” He corrected her.  
  
“I said what I meant.” She snapped a bit at him. Her face suddenly serious.  
  
His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to apologize.  
  
“Oh, I’m just messing with you! You’re so easy to wind up!” she laughed again. This time, she slapped her knees.  
  
Fenris smiled nervously and took a sip of the wine her maid had poured for him. He still felt awkward when people served him.  
  
“I’d planned to have a party a few weeks from now, but I thought you’d not only hate a crowd, but were also in need of a little emergency advice,” she explained to Fenris.  
  
Fenris was chewing so didn’t speak, but managed to look confused enough that his face asked the question.  
  
“Why? Well. Well, honestly… People noticed you two going upstairs”  
  
Fenris blushed. He immediately assumed the entire city thought they’d had sex and judged him harshly.  
  
“A few rumors started that you were ill when you two went up. Then, when you came out alone… it turned into a rumor that you two had had a fight.”  
  
“We… discussed a few things.”  
  
“Discussions can happen on a dancefloor. Arguments are what take a couple out of the room.”  
  
“How is this any of your business?”  
  
“Finally, he wonders!” she chuckled, her eyes sparkling.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Fenris, I’m not just cheering for you two because I think you make a fine couple, I’m friends with Leandra, and you remind me a bit of my husband when he burned down that barn all those years ago,” she said. Fenris could barely be annoyed with her since everything came out in her adorably drawling voice.  
  
Fenris’s brow furrowed.  
  
“I’m cheering for you two because Hawke should be the man that runs Kirkwall and you’re his only way in.”  
  
“Well, I apologize, but Hawke and I…”  
  
“Have never even dated. I know, love. I could see the panic on his face as he fished a big sloppy lie out of thin air during the meeting. I was the first to mention it to Leandra and she nearly fainted from the shock of you two keeping such a big secret from her. She was heartbroken… and I know Hawke would never do that to her.”  
  
Fenris nodded.  
  
“Fenris, I told as many people as I could that you two had gone upstairs to enjoy yourselves and I could smell it on you as you ran past me. Oh, how I giggled and winked about how you were rushing off to get a shower. How modest you are. How sweet.”  
  
“WHY ON EARTH…” Fenris started. He didn’t want people thinking that he was the kind of man to do such things in public.  
  
“Fenris, you two are the pillars holding Kirkwall out of Meredith’s reach,” Viola started. Her tone serious but expression still light. “You two cannot fight. You two cannot split apart. Most of all, Hawke is no actor. It’s either –you- or everything falls apart. Don’t you get that?”  
  
“Politics are disgusting.”  
  
“I agree. But you know you’re not in this alone. …and… excuse my prodding, but Leandra insists that Hawke’s affections are not one-sided.”  
  
Fenris tried to glare at her, but he liked her too much, especially since she’d offered to help him understand this incredible mess of a life he’d stumbled into. Most people told him to be grateful, not understanding the true burdens he shouldered.  
  
“I care about Kirkwall,” Fenris responded. Anything he’d say to her would get repeated to Leandra and he didn’t want to get her hopes up.  
  
Viola nodded with a far away look.  
  
“I see.”  
  
Days passed before Fenris left his home, again. Viola had sent him home with armloads of cheese and the promise that she would still invite him to her upcoming party. She added the much more appreciated promise that she’d not be offended if he politely declined to attend.  
  
So, glad that she hadn’t insisted that he make up with Hawke, he decided to wallow in wine and novels until someone came snooping. Luck, on his side for once, not only made his first visitor wait an entire week before knocking, it made the visitor Varric. Fenris would never leap out of a door and hug a man, but he figured if he ever did, Varric would be on the receiving end.  
  
Something in his expression must have given him away because Varric simply pushed past him into the house with a “Yeah, I’ve missed you, too.”  
  
“It’s been one week, Varric.”   
  
“One week of wondering if you weren’t packing your bags to leave Kirkwall or jabbing a knife through Hawke’s gut. I’ve been worried sick about you, and when I came by yesterday, you weren’t home!”  
  
“I had a date.”  
  
Varric narrowed his eyes. If nothing else, he could read people. Fenris most definitely didn’t have any love interest other than Hawke. His eyes suddenly widened. Ah, but Fenris was definitely the type to suddenly do foolish, self-abusing…  
  
“Varric, I swear to Andraste that you better not be imagining me in bed with a person I don’t even know just to make Hawke jealous.”  
  
“So it was for yourself, then?”  
  
“Her name is Viola.”  
  
“The old lady with the big butt?!”  
  
“Damn. I was hoping you had no idea who she was.”  
  
“I know everyone in this town.”  
  
Fenris rolled his eyes and locked the door behind himself. He simply gestured for Varric to follow him into the kitchen. His housekeepers were gone for the day and Varric didn’t make a fuss when Fenris offered him an apple, a knife, and a large cup of wine.  
  
“Well, since you know everyone, please tell me you know someone Hawke can marry on a moment’s notice.”  
  
Varric guffawed at Fenris but made no comment. He made quite a show of slicing a sliver of the red fruit into his mouth and chewing as if he could barely breathe around it.  
  
“Varric, I don’t jest. I need you to get me out of this mess.”  
  
Feeling a little sympathetic, Varric swallowed.  
  
“I actually have something to tell you… if you promise not to shoot the messenger.”  
  
Fenris glared at his friend.  
  
“…also promise not to rip the messenger’s heart out.”  
  
Fenris continued to glare.  
  
“Alright, sunshine. I mean it. You’ll only get your message if my safety is guaranteed.”  
  
“Varric, I have never and will never have the desire to do you any harm. I’m also quite sure Bianca would have a thing or two to say about me laying any fingers on you.”  
  
“Depends on the context. After all, she likes to watch.”  
  
Fenris fought the urge to laugh and simply turned his back on Varric when his cheeks started to lift.  
  
“Hawke sends his regards.” Varric started. He paused when he saw Fenris’s shoulders immediately stiffen.  
  
“Surely, you knew the message was from Hawke.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So why the clenched fist?”  
  
“Just give me the damn message.”  
  
Varric was a little surprised when Fenris didn’t turn around to face him. The elf was always polite, even if a bit formal. The storyteller in him imagined tears running down the elf’s beautiful face and he tried to deliver the rest of his message in a soothing tone.  
  
“He wants you to know that he’s sorry for not telling you about the meeting. He wants to assure you that the rest of us had no idea he hadn’t told you and that we were not in on his betrayal.”  
  
“Did you add that last bit?”  
  
“You know I didn’t.”  
  
“Is that all?”  
  
“He also pre-apologizes for tomorrow’s messenger being Merrill.”  
  
At that, Fenris managed to laugh nervously and Varric’s heart warmed.  
  
“Do you need anything, Fenris?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I could go get something for you. Bring it back. Keep you from having to run errands or stop by the market.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Anything around here need fixing or anything?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I could just stay.”  
  
“N…”  
  
“You could curl up on a couch, turn your back to me, bury your face in a blanket…”  
  
“I…”  
  
“I could tell you stories until you fall asleep.”  
  
“Varric, I’m not sick.”  
  
“Sure you are! You and a close friend just had a falling out. These things need rest and hot tea as much as any cold.”  
  
“Th… thank you. If you’d like to stay… I’d love to have you.”  
  
As Varric warned, Merrill showed up at Fenris’s mansion early in the following day.  
  
She was carrying an basket-load of Dalish savories and sweets. Fenris listened with not-so-rapt attention as she pointed to each type of food and named it. After all, she’d only been sent there to convey Hawke’s apologies. He didn’t need a verbal menu prattling off bread names in his doorway.  
  
“And these, although they’re glazed with sugar, are actually full of meat. Sounds weird, I know. But they’re really delicious. I made you five of them so you can have one and share the rest with your staff. The smaller girl loves them and it wouldn’t be right to have them in the house if she can’t have one, ya know.”  
  
“Merrill, are you done, yet?”  
  
Merrill stopped pointing at stuffed buns and candied morsels to look up at Fenris. During a long pause, her face showed the vaguest expression of disgust. Looking him firmly in the eye, she simply dropped the basket on his doorstep. A few rolls bounced out and scattered along the walk.  
  
“Don’t forget to share a sweet meat-bun with the little one. Have a nice day, jackass.”  
  
As much as he’d hate to admit it, Merrill’s newfound ability to tell him where to shove it was heartwarming. She sauntered away with a middle finger in the air and he made a mental note to stop treating her like a nuisance. He made an additional note to congratulate Isabela on being a wonderful influence.  
  
As if summoned by his thoughts, Isabela arrived at “the Wolf household” the following morning. In fact, she was standing at the foot of his bed when he woke up. She dodged the pillow he immediately threw and grabbed him by the neck when he lunged at her, himself.  
  
“Did I scare you, glowworm?” she asked, her voice a seductive purr. He could tell her free hand was hovering over a blade she kept on her hip.  
  
Fenris made another mental note to treat Merrill properly before Isabela killed him.  
  
The pirate let him go and helped him find his clothes and place his pillow back on the bed.  
  
“I never imagined you’d sleep in the nude,” she commented idly while poking around his room. She’d never thought to go in there and was surprised to find it lavishly decorated. “Was that there before I got here or do you like being choked, first thing in the morning?”  
  
Fenris didn’t know what she meant, at first. As he pulled on his breeches a certain obstacle made itself apparent. Ah, Isabela would notice and decide to comment on something like that.  
  
“Dreaming about Hawke, dear?”  
  
“Isabela, I have very little patience with people that break into their friends’ homes.”  
  
“Ah, so we are friends?” she turned to look at him, a smile on her dark features. She was wearing a black bandana with her usual gear and Fenris couldn’t help but smile back.  
  
“Are you mourning something?”  
  
“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to. I’ll wear it until you come out of this house.”  
  
“Even after I pissed Merrill off?”  
  
“I can’t expect you two to interact for five minutes without a fight. Besides, I should be thanking you for riling her up. Merrill gives the absolute best head when aggravated.”  
  
“That’s disgusting.”  
  
“It’s particularly –hard- to believe you while that is still fighting to escape your pants”  
  
“I was dreaming about Varric, Isabela.”  
  
Isabela perked a brow and her already luminous smile only grew.  
  
“Fenris, if you thought that would piss me off, you’re barking mad. You wouldn’t believe the times we’ve put white powder in Merrill’s hair and made her recite silliloquies about death and sadness. If only we could find a tin of glowing, blue pai..”  
  
“Get out of here, Isabela.”  
  
“Hawke sends his love and apologizes for that time you almost got eaten by a baby dragon because he ran out of stamina.”  
  
“Go, Isabela.”  
  
“Merrill sends her fondest “Fuck you” and another basket of buns for your staff. I already put them in the kitchen.”  
  
“Isabela.”  
  
“Varric and I extend an invitation to you and Hawke. We already have a few other couples over for… dessert, from time to time.”  
  
Fenris paused. He was still a little too… deprived… to not be momentarily shaken by the image of Varric, Isabela, and Hawke welcoming him into an oversized bed.  
  
“You know, we could have a hell of a lot more fun if you just got along with Merrill.”  
  
“Isa…” he started, but at that moment she took a running jump at his bedroom window and leapt out. He managed to catch a glimpse of her disappearing around a corner on the street below. Such a strange woman.  
  
Though Fenris knew it was inevitable, he had at least expected to see Bethany, Leandra, and any number of other messengers before Hawke.  
  
Having gone a whole day without a guest, especially after Isabela’s early morning visit the day before, Fenris was startled by a late-night knock. He dropped the book he was holding and pulled his reading glasses off since the shock had shaken them nearly off his nose, anyway.  
  
Though he’d just bathed, he knew he smelled of wine and cedar from the fire he’d perched in front of. His hair was probably a frosty halo of tangles. He face definitely had a short, stubbly beard. He could feel it when he washed his face in the morning.  
  
He fumbled around his sitting room for a robe to throw on over his pants. Hoping to reach the door before his guest left, but tempted to pretend he wasn’t home at all, Fenris galloped down the stairs in his living room and finally entered the unlit foyer.  
  
He braced himself before looking through the peephole. If it was Viola, Leandra, or Bethany, he’d never forgive himself for not shaving or combing his hair for days on end. If it was anyone else, he supposed he could pretend not to be home.  
  
One can’t pretend to be absent when the sight of the man they love makes them gasp and curse out loud.  
  
“Fenris! Are you going to open up? It’s a bit windy, my friend,” Hawke called out. “Why are you making such a racket? Are you injured?”  
  
Fenris flung the door open, his face fixed with the worst of glares.  
  
Hawke was taken aback by the elf’s intense stare and took a tiny step backwards.  
  
“Should I have sent mother, instead?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Should I leave?”  
  
Fenris wanted to repeat his previous answer. Hawke should leave. He wasn’t ready to see Hawke. He wasn’t ready to hear another apology straight from those lips. At first, he’d called the man a coward for sending his friends but slowly realized it wasn’t Hawke’s fear but Hawke’s understanding of Fenris’s boundaries that had lead to that decision.  
  
He wanted Hawke to leave but couldn’t tell him to. Somehow, he knew he wanted to see Hawke. He wanted to sit next to him. He wanted to hear him speak. He wanted to be touched, again. What an insane jumble of urges. To run toward and away from all in the same moment.  
  
“Though I would have liked to postpone this conversation… I won’t send you away now that you’re here,” Fenris said as he backed out of the doorway to allow Hawke to enter his home.  
  
When Fenris turned to lock the door, Hawke asked him not to. He said that he wouldn’t be staying long.  
  
“Fenris, I feel like we’re still in this sort of… middle place where you aren’t near saying yes… or even saying no.”  
  
Fenris’s brow immediately furrowed and he opened his mouth to protest.  
  
“No worries. No worries, my friend! I’m not here to rush you. Please, listen, because I truly do promise to leave soon. I don’t want to ruin your whole night.”  
  
Fenris stared at Hawke for a long moment before nodding.  
  
“There is a ball coming up. Tomorrow night, to be exact. I know that you’re aware of it,” Hawke took a deep breath as if to bolster his courage. “I have to go to that ball. Not only because I’m a noble and it’s a matter of status. …but because even if I can’t run for viscount, I can’t let down the people that know enough to fear Meredith. No matter what happens, they have to know that I’m there for them. They’ll need that reassurance, always… but especially now.”  
  
Fenris’s eyebrows perked. Under duress he’d probably admit that he didn’t think Hawke could lead a whole city. It was a slight part of his protest to the situation he’d been thrust into. Meredith was a surefire way to send Kirkwall into hell, but did Hawke even care about anyone other than himself? His own family? His own friends? Did Hawke have the capacity to actually give a damn what happened to the thousands of people that lived in and travelled through Kirkwall?  
  
“I’m glad to know you’re thinking about the citizens,” Fenris commented. He hoped his face didn’t show his surprise.  
  
Either it didn’t or Hawke chose to ignore it.  
  
“Fenris, if you don’t also attend this ball, people may talk. However, it is a costume ball so if you stay home, we can just later claim that you were around, somewhere. I guess what I’m saying is… I’d like to see you tomorrow night, but it’s a personal request, not a political ploy.”  
  
Not a soul could ignore Fenris’s open mouth and perked brows. Had Leandra trained Hawke in the twin arts of love and torture? How could a man say “no” to that?  
  
“I don’t expect an answer. Just… if you attend he ball, find me. Please.”  
  
Fenris sighed with relief when Hawke left without another word or being asked to go. The elf wasn’t sure his heart could have handled another minute of humble begging from his cocky friend. Ah, how the look of pleading in Hawke’s eyes had gone straight to his groin.  
  
Fenris’s fantasies frightened him. Was he the subservient masochist that wanted Hawke’s cock slapped against his cheeks? Was he the sadistic lover that wanted Hawke on his knees and begging? Was it possible to be both? Fenris had never explored the idea. How could he love a man so selfishly and still fantasize about his friends all tangled, together, in ecstasy?  
  
Fenris wondered how much of his aversion to this relationship was disgust in himself.  
  
Hawke was such a good person. Such a hero.  
  
What was Fenris?   
  
Fenris was the man that sent his youngest maid out the following morning to buy him new clothes for a ball.  
  
“I want no-one to know who I am,” was his only instruction to her.  
  
This ball was not so much a ball as a private party in a series of crowded rooms. The house was smaller. Less ostentatious. Every room was dark, smokey, and intimate. Deathroot mingled enticingly with vanilla and almond incense. Fenris felt safe and relaxed for the first time in a long time. He knew it was partially due to the burning root that he’d always avoided in favor of wine. However, he couldn’t help but give partial credit to his costume.  
  
Hands, arms, neck, and face were covered. His long and pointed ears were pressed into his hair by the mask that he’d had to pull over his head to wear. It covered all but his eyes.  
  
Most people chose not to speak at this ball. He heard the occasional murmur, but with the music so low and slow, everyone mostly chose to lazily dance with one another. Leaning on their partners and strangers alike, the whole building was a gyrating mass.  
  
There was nothing political about tonight. The masks even made it so anyone could attend. Not a soul had asked Fenris’s name at the door.  
  
Fenris realized rather quickly that there was no way he would find Hawke in dark rooms full of masked people. He also realized that he almost didn’t want to. He wanted the deathroot-induced erection that was trapped against his thigh to find release.  
  
Finding the darkest room. The room where the lights were red. Fenris fondled his way along the curtained wall, groping at whatever clothed flesh his hand came in contact with until his palm finally rested on an unoccupied sliver of wall. He settled there, his senses deprived and body hot due to the curtain he rested behind.  
  
The couples on either side of him took no notice as he slid open the buttons of his pants. His cock ached in his gloved hand. It was strange to not feel the slight indentation of his lyrium bands pressing along its length as he caressed it with the back of his hand.  
  
The shuddering sigh of a female orgasm caught his attention. He then heard the heels of dainty shoes slowly step away. Someone was still there.  
  
Brave and high, Fenris immediately reached for the lady’s partner before they also had a chance to leave. He pressed his leather-covered fingers along their bare thigh until he reached what he sought. Cock. Thick and throbbing. He couldn’t tell if it was wet with jism and would start to wilt soon. Ah, but it felt hard as any broadsword and showed no signs of having been spent. The balls underneath were tight and heavy.  
  
Fenris wanted to make this man cum.  
  
Lazily stroking himself and the man, he listened as barely stifled grunts and gasps escaped his partner. He noticed most people chose not to speak. The room was a soft, sulty chorus of hard slaps, slick insertions, and random shouts. The grunting. The moaning. Fenris’s cock started to eagerly leak precum as it always did. Even when he took his hand off of himself, it continued to drip and twitch on its own.  
  
He was sure it would jump one time too many and spray cum down the wall through his leather pants. Even the thought of exiting the ball, anonymous due to his costume, but covered in cum made him gush. He jerked his partner with his right hand, moving the left one to knead the man’s ass. What a glorious ass. Soft and round fat perched deliciously over thighs as hard and thick as tree trunks. He imagined it was Hawke.  
  
He was back in his fantasy world where the shoulder he leaned his head on was Hawke’s and the arm that wrapped rested across his back was Hawke’s. He barely managed to avoid moaning out Hawke’s name as the man gripped his leather-clad bulge and gave an almost painful squeeze.  
  
Fenris imagined Hawke’s hand gripping him tightly, his voice calling Fenris a whore. He imagined Hawke telling him that he was dirty for being this hard just for touching another man’s cock. He wondered how long he could last if that cock was inside him, sliding over nerve endings and filling him up to the very brim.  
  
His moans were louder than he wanted them to be. He hadn’t truly let Hawke touch him… ever, and it had been a long time. Such a long time. This stranger was going to have him spraying cum down his thigh and begging to be fucked, far too soon.  
  
Much to his credit, the stranger only managed to pant and huff out loud breaths through his nostrils as Fenris’s gloved hand gripped his naked cock. He only seemed to swell harder as Fenris continued to stroke. His panting got faster. His hips seemed to move out of sync with Fenris’s hand, as if the man had no control over them. The elf stopped, momentarily, to stroke the man’s sack. They drew closer to the base of the stranger’s cock and Fenris knew he would paint the wall white in mere seconds.  
  
His own orgasm was close at hand and Fenris couldn’t stop himself from gasping out a “Mercy.”  
  
The stranger stopped stroking Fenris and could be heard rustling with his jacket. Soon after, Fenris felt something soft grazing his hand and realized his partner was holding a handkerchief over his glans to keep his nasty jism from making a mess of his clothes.   
  
Despite the lack of contact, Fenris’s cock leapt again and his grunted out a “Fuck” as his knees buckled. He was actively fighting his own orgasm. He didn’t want to cum spontaneously in his own pants but knew it was inevitable. If only Hawke were around to…  
  
As if summoned, a voice that could only be Hawke’s said, “Sorry to cut in” as he snatched Fenris out of the curtain and away from his anonymous lover. The man chose that exact moment to ejaculate and from the sudden warmth and wetness across his glove and pants, Fenris knew that Hawke’s interjection had startled them both too much to keep the napkin in place.  
  
The man both screamed and moaned, most likely because he’d just been frightened half to death during a handjob but didn’t protest as Fenris was dragged away.  
  
The moody expanse of the red room trickled down to tiny stalls along a darkened hall. Each tiny alcove seemed to be occupied by two or more writhing bodies but Fenris paid very little attention to them. He had so many questions for the man that was dragging him to Andraste-knows-where. Least of all was “Can you please give me a moment to get off?” Not that he would actually ask.  
  
He wondered if Hawke was angry at him.  
  
It wasn’t cheating. They weren’t together.  
  
But to agree that they weren’t ready for sex with each other and jerk a man off in public days later did seem at least a tad disingenuous.  
  
They made their way up a tiny, winding set of stairs and Fenris’s cock throbbed at the thought that they may have been heading to a bedroom. He was more than a little confused when they burst through a small office and emerged on a tiny balcony that was home to a single potted plant and a small bench.  
  
They’d rushed there so quickly that the cum across Fenris’s thighs was still wet when Hawke decided to wipe his fingers through it and then place the soiled digit to his own tongue.  
  
“How disgusting.” Fenris groaned as he watched his only love eat a strange man’s cum.  
  
“I know you’re no less dirty. Had the mask allowed, you’d have had him down your throat.”  
  
Fenris twitched beneath his leather pants and Hawke’s gaze was drawn from his eyes to his desperate cock. Hawke didn’t stroke Fenris, he simply pressed his hand against that twitching rod, feeling the rigid pulsing through the slick fabric. He pressed hard and it sent shivers of both pleasure and pain through Fenris’s entire body.  
  
The elf whimpered and was too drunk on lust, deathroot, and wine to be ashamed.  
  
“I heard you cursing the God’s above,” Hawke whispered against Fenris’s mask.  
  
“Fenris, you call me disgusting when I know I could have found you choking on the load I just wiped from your thigh.”  
  
“I don’t think you’re disgu…”  
  
“And you don’t think his cum is disgusting, either.” Hawke interrupted him. “In fact, how about a taste?”  
  
Before Fenris could say the yes that Hawke saw in his eyes, his mask was being ripped off and a salty tongue was pushed into his mouth.  
  
Fenris’s arms flung across his shoulders and he pressed his hips against Hawke’s hand, trying to get Hawke to stroke him. He was so close. So very very close. Even closer once they started kissing.  
  
Hawke put both hands on Fenris’s tiny waist and he practically picked him up off the ground as he started to roughly press his own erection into the elf’s abdomen. Fenris was suddenly struck by how different they were in stature. He was small and light enough for Hawke to frot against his crotch and belly like some toy. Hawke was a biter. His bottom lip. His tongue. Over to his ear. Down to his neck. A series of little nibbles and scratches.  
  
Flared nostrils and not at all stifled moans, Hawke seemed set to devour Fenris. His bulging dick seemed set to soil his trousers.   
  
“You don’t even know who he was.” Hawke accused, his pace quickening and his speaking stilted by his ragged breathing.  
  
“Was your goal to make me jealous? To moan loud enough to catch my attention?” Hawke accused. His lips were against Fenris’s neck, kissing a deep bruise he’d just sucked into existence.  
  
“Must all my actions be for you?” Fenris asked in between his own groans. “Where were your hands and lips while you were hearing my moans?”  
  
“Oh, Fenris!” Hawke growled. Fenris could hear the smile in his voice as he flung the elf down onto the metal bench. Hawke dropped to kneel between the elf’s knees. His own mask was only a barely there film of lace across his eyes, but he ripped it off and tossed it aside to look up at his fully revealed lover.  
  
“My dear Fenris, the cock that was between my lips could never be as sweet as yours… not that I would know.”  
  
Fenris perked a brow at Hawke’s hands. They hovered over the latch to his breeches. Obviously waiting for permission to proceed.  
  
“Hawke, surely this can wait… right now I can’t promise that I’ll be gentle.”  
  
Even sitting on the bench without any touch or stimulation, Fenris could barely stop his hips from moving.  



End file.
